


everything but my bones

by BansheeLydia



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Baker Malia, Blood, Dead Allison, F/F, Future Fic, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Injury, Violence, baker erica
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-08 01:21:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6833071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BansheeLydia/pseuds/BansheeLydia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malia shrugged, like it was nothing.  Like she didn’t care that her ex was returning to Beacon Hills.  Like the thought didn’t have a familiar knot of guilt tightening in her gut.  Like the fact that Lydia hadn’t spoken to her in five years didn’t tear her apart inside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	everything but my bones

“Have you heard? Lydia’s coming back.”

Malia’s whole world froze around her. Her hands stilled, cake mix dripping off the wooden spoon and onto the counter, and it took her a moment to realize that Scott was talking to her. 

When she didn’t respond, he gently uncurled her fingers from around the spoon, setting it aside with the bowl of mixture. He kept hold of her hand, gently pulling her into a hug, and the tension slowly eased from her body in response to her alpha’s comfort.

When she felt like she could breathe properly again, she looked at Isaac. He looked uncomfortable, arms folded as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

Malia shrugged, like it was nothing. Like she didn’t care that her ex was returning to Beacon Hills. Like the thought didn’t have a familiar knot of guilt tightening in her gut. Like the fact that Lydia hadn’t spoken to her in five years didn’t tear her apart inside.

*

_“You’re frowning.” Lydia’s smile brightened when Malia looked down at her and she reached up, smoothing the frown away with the tip of her finger. “That’s better.”_

_Malia couldn’t help but smile back. Lydia made herself comfortable, body stretched out on Malia’s bed with her head in her girlfriend’s lap, red curls fanning over tanned thighs. She reached up to stroke idly at Malia’s arm._

_“This is nice,” Malia muttered._

_Keeping still used to drive her mad. Being able to relax and just be...it wasn’t something Malia trusted, this instinct to keep moving, keep surviving itching away inside her, her coyote scratching through her skin. But she was getting better at it and just hanging out with Lydia, enjoying the sun streaming through the bedroom window, it felt so good._

_“And that makes you frown?” Lydia teased._

_Malia snorted, leaning down to kiss her. “It’s not that.”_

_Lydia pressed up, leaning her weight on one elbow as she looked at her. “Then what is it?”_

_She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know how to tell Lydia that she was completely ass over elbows for her. They’d only been dating for three months. She didn’t want to risk what was, to her, still a new and tentative relationship by admitting she was in love. She didn’t want to fuck things up, but part of her knew that she would end up doing that anyway. All she did was ruin things._

_“You smell,” she finally said, teasing, and the distraction worked; Lydia huffed and grabbed the pillow, whacking her with it._

*

When she’d first shifted from coyote to human, Malia had never thought she’d end up working in a bakery. She had no idea what her future held, didn’t really think _dream job_ applied to her, but here she was.

Baking helped a lot in the months following that first shift. It had been Allison who’d encouraged her, inviting her over to make some brownies for a school fundraiser. She’d been shit at it at first, but Allison had been patient, and when the fourth batch didn’t turn out so bad, she figured it wouldn’t hurt to keep practicing at home.

When things got too much, when she felt that drive to run, that call from the preserve to her coyote, baking helped. In fact, it had been while watching Lydia slowly sink her teeth into a cookie Malia had given her that made her realize she had _feelings_ for her friend and packmate.

She sighed, closing her eyes briefly. Those memories were so _easy_ , so happy, despite the shitstorm that was their senior year. But thoughts of Allison always had teeth, chewing her up from the inside out.

She opened the industrial sized oven, not bothering with the oven gloves hanging by it as she pulled out a tray of brownies, and there was a snort from the other side of the kitchen.

“You need to stop doing that,” Erica said, closing the door behind her. 

Malia shrugged. “It’s easier.”

The werewolf hummed, holding out her hand to examine her manicure. Her nails gleamed a bright blood red in the artificial light. “Maybe for you.”

Malia had asked her once why she kept her nails so long. She kept her own short and blunt, hated when they grew out because it reminded her too much of her claws, reminded her of too many times when she’d lost control of her shift.

Erica had shrugged. “I like them this way,” she’d replied, before her smile turned wicked, eyes as sharp as her wolf teeth as she’d added, “And so does Stiles.”

Malia watched her now as she tied her blonde curls up into a messy bun and grabbed an apron, securing it around her waist. The burns on her hands healed quickly, skin tingling in their wake. 

They worked for an hour without speaking to each other, the silence broken by the occasional whir of an electric whisk or the sound of Alicia serving customers out front. It wasn’t until Malia was carefully piping yellow frosting onto a batch of vanilla cupcakes that she suddenly noticed Erica had stopped creating little marzipan roses and was watching her, expression sharp as a whip. 

“What?” she gritted out. 

“Lydia arrived yesterday.”

Malia nodded once. She knew. She’d been the only one who didn’t go to the airport to greet Lydia. But she’d almost _felt_ Lydia’s presence in town again, like a ghost of a kiss on the back of her neck. Cold and cruel.

“How do you feel about that?” Erica asked.

Malia stopped, looking down at the counter. What kind of fucked up question was that? How was she _supposed_ to feel? Because she was pretty sure this wasn’t it. This mix of longing, this ache to be close to Lydia even if it meant seeing that hatred in her eyes, and resentment because was it not enough that part of her had died that day too? Was it not enough that a hollow had been carved out of her that day and it was _still there_ , empty and aching inside of her; did Lydia really need to pick at it with her nails, split open the edges and break her ribs to make it just that bit bigger?

“I’m pretty sure if I wanted to talk about it,” she finally sneered, “It wouldn’t be to someone just as fucked up as I am.”

Erica just gave her the icy smile she was used to. “Would it help if I blamed you?” she asked casually.

The counter split slightly under Malia’s tight grip. Erica didn’t so much as bat an eyelid, just shrugged when Malia turned electric blue eyes on her.

“I’ve seen how you are around the others. Scott, Kira, Stiles, Isaac. You don’t know how to be around them, not really, because they don’t blame you. Not like you blame yourself.”

Malia’s teeth ground together, jaw aching with the burning need to shift. She held it back, dug her fingers into the granite counter when she felt claws start to grow until they splintered and snapped, blood warming her skin. 

“I don’t blame you either,” Erica added after a moment, voice softer, and that was worse than the iciness of before. “And I think the fact that you know that, deep down, Lydia doesn’t entirely blame you either fucks you up.”

“It’s none of your business.” Malia’s voice was like a whip, a growl grating out of her throat, but Erica held her ground.

“I think you should talk to her.”

It wouldn’t be the first time that Malia and Erica’s friendship ended up in teeth and claws, ripping at skin and breaking bones. It wouldn’t be the first time that the kitchen ended up a disaster, either. Malia practically had a fund for it now, topping it up so she could repair the damage every time.

After, as Scott rubbed at his eyes, the red glow fading from them, Malia wiped a smashed cupcake off her thigh, looked over at Erica. The werewolf wordlessly shoved her shoulder back into place and reached out, fingertips brushing over Malia’s.

She didn’t bring Lydia up again.

*

_“How could you?” The rawness in Lydia’s voice was rivalled by the spite in her touch as she shoved Malia back, kept shoving until Malia’s back slammed into the wall. “You fucking -.”_

_Malia stayed silent, looking down at her – no, not her girlfriend, not anymore. Their relationship died with Allison. She took it all, Lydia’s fury, let her scream and spit in her face, let her use her words and fists to break her down. She deserved it and it didn’t matter anyway; she was already empty. Only guilt had a claim on her now._

_Finally, Lydia gripped her chin hard, red nails biting into her skin. Malia felt her skin heal even as Lydia dug deeper. “I hope you rot too.”_

_Malia wondered if this was how Allison felt when she struggled for that last breath. She watched Lydia leave, felt the gaze of the pack on her, but didn’t move._

_“Me too.”_

*

She didn’t see Lydia for a week.

The pack didn’t talk about her, almost tiptoeing around Malia, and it was driving her crazy. Made her throat burn every time she could smell that they’d been around Lydia, made her want to lash out. She didn’t. 

The only other one who didn’t seem to spend much time around Lydia was Isaac. Malia wondered if it was because he’d been in love with Allison too, if it made it hard to be around Lydia. He didn’t speak about it and she didn’t either.

She smelled Lydia before she saw her. Malia was alone in the kitchen; the bakery was shut, but things like that never stopped Lydia. She came in through the employee entrance, stood wordlessly by the door until Malia dared lift her gaze and look at her.

She looked good.

Her hair was shorter, cut just above her shoulders. She looked healthy, she looked _well_. The last time Malia had seen her, she’d been so pale, just skin and bones with a dead look in her eyes. This Lydia, like the Lydia Malia had known and loved, was like a ghost and it cut her to the core.

“Your own bakery,” Lydia said after a moment. “Congratulations.”

Malia shrugged, swallowed hard. “What are you doing here, Lydia?”

She pushed away from the wall but didn’t approach, didn’t close the distance between them. She dragged her fingertip along a shelf, looking at the cakes on display. 

“Beacon Hills hasn’t changed much.” 

It hadn’t. It was quieter, maybe. Malia almost missed the days of running for her life, of fighting for her pack as much as for herself. The others liked the peace, but she couldn’t trust it. Violence and misery was all she knew.

“Derek left,” she blurted. “With Braeden. They’re in South America. They’re happy. And Boyd’s in Chicago. Chris left, I think he went to France...”

She trailed off, voice hollowing out when she thought of Chris. Remembered the way he’d looked at her that night, the way he kept looking at her for weeks after. Like he was trying not to blame her, but wanted so badly to rip her throat out and watch her bleed to death. 

“I know,” Lydia said. “I keep in contact.” 

Right. It was just Malia she didn’t speak to.

“They got out,” Lydia added. “Good for them.”

_So did you_ , Malia wanted to say, but she knew better. Lydia would never truly be free of Beacon Hills, not when Allison’s body was rotting in the cemetery next to her mom and aunt.

“Why are you here?” She asked instead, bone tired.

Lydia’s shoulder lifted in a delicate shrug. “I knew we’d see each other eventually. I wanted to get it out of the way.”

Malia bit her tongue till she tasted blood, just watching Lydia. She looked at Malia for a moment, something dark crossing briefly across her face. She left a moment later without a word. 

Malia let her go.

*

At eighteen years old, Malia had a choice.

She could save Lydia’s life, or she could save Allison’s.

She chose Lydia.

*

_“You loved her.”_

_Lydia didn’t look at her. “I did.”_

_It didn’t hurt. Part of Malia had always known._

_“You loved me too,” she said._

_Lydia did look up, then, gaze carving out Malia’s insides. “I did.”_

_She left that night. Left town without a word and didn’t look back._

_Malia let her go._

*

“It’s Stiles’ birthday next week.” Scott’s voice was quiet, so gentle it almost hurt. “We’re going out to celebrate.”

“I know.” Malia focused on kneading dough, pretended she wasn’t burning inside. “I got the invite on Facebook.”

“Lydia’s going.” His voice was so tentative and it made Malia want to snap. She held it back, just nodded. “I just...you’re coming, right?”

She almost laughed. The way he said it like it’d just be any old awkward encounter with an ex after a bad break up. Like what had happened wasn’t so much worse than that.   
She shrugged and Scott left her be, leaving with a gentle touch to her shoulder. She felt the touch burning her skin long after the door swung shut behind him, tears stinging her eyes.

Stiles’ birthday rolled around.

She didn’t go.

*

_“Lydia,” Malia breathed. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you -.”_

_Nails dug sharply into her skin, Lydia looking at her with wide eyes, tears tracking down her face. Blood trickled down Malia’s arms where nails broke skin but she didn’t flinch; watched as realization, horror, hatred flooded Lydia’s expression._

_She opened her mouth._

_Malia didn’t cover her ears._

_When Lydia screamed Allison’s name, Malia’s eardrums burst, the forest went silent, and she knew then that Lydia would never forgive her. That she’d never forgive herself. Lydia went limp in her arms, hands dropping to claw at the dirt as she screamed and sobbed and cried and Malia stared, watching Lydia’s lips form the same words over and over._

_Howcouldyou howcouldyou howcouldyou –_

_“I hate you.”_

*

Scott and Kira had got to them first. Malia backed up, watched them try and comfort Lydia, saw the grief in their faces and threw up into the dirt and mud. 

Allison was in her father’s arms when she got there, tears tracking down her cheeks as she bled out. She’d clutched at Malia’s hand, ignored the words and apologies spilling from her mouth. _Thanked_ her for making the choice she did. _Thanked_ her for letting her die to save Lydia.

Her last breath was wrenched out of her, wet and painful, and then it had been silent. Chris hadn’t looked at her. Isaac, nearby, had howled into the dirt.

Malia stared at Allison. Dug her claws into her sides until it hurt. Knew that nothing would ever be the same again.

*

They stared at each other.

The minutes ticked by, but Malia couldn’t bring herself to say anything, didn’t trust her own words. She didn’t know why Lydia was here, on her doorstep. Didn’t know what to do or say. It was only when she realized it was raining that she stepped aside, letting the other woman in.

Lydia did what she always did; made herself at home, swanning into the living room and sitting down, taking control of the situation. Malia stayed standing, fingers twitching at her sides as she watched Lydia.

When she didn’t say anything, she forced the words out, quiet, “I know you hate me.”

Lydia’s expression crumpled. She looked down, a bitter laugh scraping from her throat.

“I don’t _hate_ you, Malia. I could never hate you. That’s the problem.” She looked up, lip curling. “It’d be easier if I did.”

Malia swallowed. “I hate me.”

“I know.” Lydia got to her feet in a sudden burst, pacing the room. “I loved you, so much. Part of me still does, no matter how hard I try not to. And I loved Allison too, and then she died and this – this whole thing is so fucked up. We’re fucked up, Malia.”

“I know.” God, she _knew_.

The sudden fight drained from Lydia and she sank back down on the couch, shaking her head. “I barely recognize you. You’re so twisted up with guilt.”

“I know.”

“I don’t blame you. I used to. I _want_ to. But I can’t, not anymore.”

Malia crossed the room slowly, sat down next to her. She left space between them, felt like the world was shaking apart around her. 

“Do you think we can fix this?” It was such a stupid question. A cruel question. 

Lydia’s fingertips brushed over her own. 

“I don’t know.”

**Author's Note:**

> allirica.tumblr.com - feel free to send a prompt or come say hi :)


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